


Sweet Sickness

by Howling_Harpy



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Compliant, Caretaking, Explicit Sexual Content, Feeding, First Time, M/M, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Sickfic, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 06:10:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21070184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howling_Harpy/pseuds/Howling_Harpy
Summary: In Haguenau, Lipton is fighting off pneumonia, and he and Captain Speirs share a room with only one bed.Speirs looks after his first sergeant to the best of his abilities.





	Sweet Sickness

**Author's Note:**

> We were all thinking about it when we read that they shared a room with only one bed. Because of that this fic practically wrote itself, and the amount of my favourite things that I poured in this is staggering.
> 
> I like this fic a lot. Writing something longer and proper (and steamy) for your OTP is such a joy. Please enjoy!

There was a dead snake lying over the threshold of the living-room in the house they took. It didn’t even look out of the place in the abandoned, rummaged mansion that might have as well be dead as well. 

Lipton wasn’t in the condition to critique interior design when they arrived, and not even to mind rubble and dust and mud on the floors, he was too busy trying to stay steady on his feet when he wobbled out of the truck and into the new company CP. He had no idea what he looked like, but he had a hunch he was even worse than the other men in the company, and Luz was close behind him as if ready to catch him if he suddenly fell. 

Pneumonia, the medic had said and uselessly told him he needed to be in a hospital, as if that was a possibility. At first he had hoped that the cough was from the cigarettes, but the bloody rattle tearing at his lungs proved to be a serious thing after all, and with it came the fever.

Lipton had never experienced a fever like this. He was hot and drowsy like he had been baking in the midday sun in the middle of summer, but at the same time he shivered with chills running down his body, and all the while his brain was foggy and throbbed like an egg about to crack in boiling water. 

He could barely open his jacket and pull down his suspenders and collapse on the couch before the world tipped over, and all the while Luz was fussing around him like he was a helpless child and not the company’s First Sergeant. The blanket Luz had managed to snatch from somewhere was god-sent though, and Lipton didn’t complain about the coffee either. At this point he would have drank plain hot water just to sooth his raw throat, even though his hands could barely manage to hold a mug steady. 

There was the regular business going through the CP, and Lipton struggled to keep up with it. Webster finally rejoined the company, the second platoon got a new lieutenant, there was a needless and dangerous-sounding patrol, and Captain Speirs stopped his looting to size up the fresh blood and then bark at Lipton to get to bed and sleep. Lipton took a note of everything going on around him, but his head felt like it was full of cotton and he couldn’t make himself focus on anything for too long before losing his train of thought.

He worried about the patrol but could do nothing about it, just watched orders be passed by him while he lay on the remains of a couch with a piece of paper in his hand, trying to work.

Luz had his own duties with the rations and he had to leave Lipton’s side, but not after fixing him a second cup of coffee. Speirs had his hands full with the patrol and he left with the other officers to be briefed and prepare it, and Lipton was left at the CP. He tried to work, tried to catch up with paperwork and be somehow useful even if ill, but at some point he must have dozed off.

He was woken up when it was already dark outside, the February night chilly and even darker with the light discipline enforced. He was woken up by someone who shook him by a shoulder, startling him.

“I told you to go to bed!” Speirs growled impatiently.

Lipton blinked. “I meant to,” he mumbled, but wasn’t sure if it was true. He should have been working, but given how he had fallen asleep he might have as well been in their room.

“Come on, we’re going now,” Speirs ushered him, now pulling him by his shoulder, urging him to get up. 

The sleep was still making Lipton’s head heavy and his limbs didn’t quite know how to do their job, but with support he managed to get up. The blanket fell off him and exposed him to the room temperature that might have as well been freezing, and before he could even try to control it his body gave a shiver that almost made him fold over.

Speirs kept his hold of him, determinedly hoisting his arm on his shoulder and pulled Lipton against his side. “Just look at you, Lieutenant. You can’t even stand,” he muttered in a tone that sounded angry but what Lipton by now knew to be worry. “You’re going to bed this instant. Come. Try and move your feet, I’ll steer.” 

Even though he was ashamed of the worry he was causing, Lipton had to recognize he had no other option. His body ached and shivered and he was too dizzy to even make out the room properly, and so he had no choice but to accept the help from his Captain.

Speirs took him up the stairs, guiding him up the stairs with steady patience at each step, always at his side and waiting for him to find his feet. 

Together they made their way down the hallway all the way to the room furthest back, where Speirs pushed the door open with his shoulder and then pulled Lipton behind him inside. 

When the door closed behind them, all the additional noise from the house and outside too seemed to fade, and they were left in a barren room that’s only window was boarded up and covered with several mismatched curtains just to be sure. There was one singular oil lamp on the floor burning with a low flame, illuminating the room in soft yellow light. Next to it was a bedroll, and on the opposite wall a freshly made bed. 

“I thought you said there were beds here,” Lipton said, glancing between the bed and the sleeping bag.

“Yes, one in every room,” Speirs said. “Hop in.” 

Lipton wondered about the words for a second, then realized that Speirs was now guiding him towards the only bed. “Sir – No, I can’t – “ 

“You can and you will,” Speirs answered calmly and with his brand of finality that no one dared to argue. 

Except for Lipton when he had a reasonable cause, of course. “Sir, I can’t take your bed. You’re an officer, you should take the bed. I’ll be alright on the floor.”

Speirs gave him a sharp look. “You’re sick.” The _don’t be an idiot_ was heavily implied.

Lipton didn’t have enough energy to argue any further, just shook his head in protest even though he was shuffling his feet obediently along as Speirs dragged him across the floor and finally dropped him on the bed. 

For a moment Lipton’s world was tilting as he sat on the edge of the mattress and tried to comprehend his shifted point of gravity and the feeling of relief in his legs when he took his weight off them. He felt strangely flared up all over, all his muscles tender and sore at the same time, and in that moment it dawned on him that once he’d tip himself into the bed he wouldn’t get up in quite a while.

Even in his sluggish mind defiance flared. He had work to do, duties to attend, he couldn’t just roll over and let a lousy illness defeat him! 

He mumbled something about it out loud, but Speirs shushed him. The Captain hunched over to nonchalantly strip him of his jacket and undo his suspenders from his trousers like he undressed his sergeants every day. Lipton didn’t know what to do or say under Speirs’ efficient ministrations, so he just cooperated with what little was demanded of him, even when Speirs knelt on the floor and undid his boots. 

Lipton swallowed. It was terribly inappropriate to have your superior on his knees before you, taking your shoes off for you, but Speirs did it as if it was nothing. One boot came loose and he tossed it on the floor at the foot of the bed, and the other soon followed.

Speirs stood up. “There. Now you can’t run off,” he said, then ushered Lipton further on the bed and shoved him down on it. 

Lipton went down easily, and to his misfortune found the bed even more comfortable than it had looked. The mattress didn’t have strings but feather fillings, making it the softest thing he had ever felt and he sank into it like a kitten into a too big cushion. The bed cradled his sore body like it was meant for his resting place, and all strength was drained out of him the moment his back hit it and he let out a rattling sigh.

The sheets were fresh, just like Speirs had said earlier that day. Lipton’s feverish mind wondered if the Captain had made the bed himself, gathered all these plush comforters and crispy clean sheets and made a comfortable nest just for him. He chuckled at the thought, staring into the ceiling that looked like it was moving. 

“Stay there. I’ll be right back,” Speirs said, turned on his heel and strode out of the room. 

Lipton didn’t know how long he was gone. It felt like just a moment but honestly it could have been an hour, Lipton’s mind was drifting as if it was trying to leave his body, and he hovered on the edges of consciousness. He wasn’t even sure who had pulled the covers on him, had he done it himself or had Speirs done it somehow without him noticing. Anything was plausible now, Lipton was too exhausted and dizzy to piece together too long a chain of logic. 

When Speirs came back, Lipton didn’t hear him enter but felt him sit down on the bed. 

“Here. Drink this,” Speirs said. He was holding a dark brown bottle in hand and pushed it towards Lipton.

“What is it?” Lipton asked while pushing himself to sit up with the covers weighing him down, even though he suspected that he would drink whatever it was in any case.

“Schnapps,” Speirs replied, “it’ll help. Come on, drink.” For a moment he watched Lipton struggle before he offered him a steadying hand, pulling him by the elbow and setting the hazy room to balance. 

Lipton knew it would make no difference to point out that he didn’t drink, so he accepted the bottle and took it to his lips. The bottle was heavy even though there wasn’t much liquid in it, just a few mouthfuls sloshing in the bottom. Tipping his head back made him dizzy, but Speirs brought his other hand up to steady the bottle for him so he didn’t spill any, and then the scorching liquid flooded his mouth.

It was thick and black, or at least he imagined it to be, since it burned and tasted like aniseed and juniper, biting and bitter like cough syrup with an aftertaste of earth. One mouthful went down, burning his throat, and still the bottle had liquid in it and Speirs wouldn’t let him put it down, just to lower it enough to take a breath and then tilted it up again. 

The fever burned, but the liquid burned hotter, lavishing his sore throat and lungs coughed tender. He took another mouthful, and it felt like he was drinking poison, something brewed out of a forest floor in a cauldron. 

The third mouthful was the last, and when it went down Lipton felt a new kind of dizziness in his head. Some of the pressure inside his skull had eased, but now it felt like whatever stuffing had been smothering it had liquefied and was now swimming in his head.

“What was that?” Lipton managed to ask. The bottle disappeared, and he assumed Speirs took it out of his hands. He heard it clinking on the floor, then toppling over and rolling on the floor before hitting the wall somewhere under the bed. 

Speirs made a sound, something like a laugh in a breath. “I have no idea,” he said carelessly. “Stay awake. Now this.” 

Something warm brushed against Lipton’s cheek and he focused his eyes in front of him. Speirs had shifted closer to him and had touched his hand against his cheek. Lipton frowned, not being able to see the reason for a gesture like that, and perhaps seeing his bafflement Speirs said: “You’re still warm.” 

He was also holding something, a small plate with a pastry of some sort and a fork stuck into it. He balanced the plate on his knee, took the fork and starter to saw pieces off the little treat. Lipton watched him silently, swaying a bit and watching how the crust crackled revealing several leaf-thin layers and a yellow fruit filling that looked like baked apples. 

Speirs gathered fruit and crust on the fork, then carefully presented it to Lipton. He did it so naturally and without any hesitation that Lipton didn’t even have the mind to question it, he just opened his mouth and accepted the food offered. 

He could barely taste anything, but he did recognize the sweet caramelized apple, so soft he didn’t even have to chew for the cubes to dissolve in his mouth, and the crust was rich and good too even though he knew instantly it couldn’t have been made with butter or even entirely with wheat. But it was crispy and fresh, better than anything he could remember having eaten, and when the fork was presented to him the second time, he accepted it more eagerly than the first. 

Speirs shifted closer to him, and even through the thick covers he could feel the warmth coming off his thigh. He didn’t say a word while he was at the task, just cut the pastry in pieces, forked it and fed it to Lipton, keeping up a brisk pace until all there was left was crumbs and drops of the filling. Speirs put the plate and the fork away, and this time Lipton saw him put them under the bed, out of the way.

He felt tired, but also content in some way. The alcohol buzzed in his head and shimmered in his belly, clouding his already hazy mind enough to just enjoy being doted on like this without wondering what Speirs was thinking or how any of this would look to someone else. The alcohol had dulled the aches of his body and the pastry satisfied a hunger he hadn’t recognized from other pains, and the soft bed and warm covers were calling his shivering body.

The thought barely formed, and then Speirs put a hand on his chest and pushed him back down as if to return him in the same place he had taken him from. Lipton managed a small noise that wasn’t quite agreeable but not defiant either as he was handled, and Speirs pulled the covers up again, cocooning him into the soft nest.

Speirs acted as if he was somehow responsible for his care, or like he was handling some delicate piece of equipment that was his, and Lipton didn’t know how to feel about that. He couldn’t piece the thought together, but his body seemed to be acting on its own without needing a clearly articulated reason, and despite the tight covers his hand grabbed a hold of Speirs’ sleeve by his wrist. 

“Go to sleep now, Lieutenant,” Speirs said while his fingers took a hold of Lipton’s, trying to pry them off.

“Yes, sir,” Lipton muttered, already drifting off, but his fingers grasping tighter. The order was unnecessary, he couldn’t have stayed awake if he wanted to, his eyes closed on their own accord and his body went pliant, the last strand of defiance snapping under the strain of pain, fever and alcohol. Last, he was aware of his fingers keeping a hold of something important, and then he knew nothing.

When Lipton woke up, it was gradual. The room was still pitch black when he opened his eyes, and slowly he realized that it must still be in the middle of the night. He didn’t have to wonder what had woken him up, because the second thing he became aware of was how hot he was. He was sweating and burning up under the heavy covers that weighed him down into the mattress that felt like it wanted to swallow him, and with a groan he started to struggle out of the bundle of sheets and covers. 

He managed to fight his shoulders free and breached the suffocating swaddle, and the first breeze of cool air from the room was a heavenly relief. He took a deep breath and fought more of his body free. With the cool air rushing into his cocoon he realized his entire body was damp with sweat, and so were the sheets around him. 

With twisting and turning he fought the sheets from around him and felt the air cooling the sweat on his skin and his breathing eased. He remembered the dead snake downstairs and felt a distant kinship with the reptile, as he was trying to shed his sickbed’s tight embrace. 

With a new clarity he gasped for breath even though his lungs were still exhausted and sensitive, and with his struggling realized he wasn’t alone in the bed.

It was too dark to see, but when his senses came back to him it was easy to tell who was lying beside him, fitted along the side of his body. He could feel his warmth, sense the position of his body by how it weighed down the mattress, and he recognized Speirs by his scent. 

_He has showered_, Lipton thought distantly as he inhaled the blend of soap and the dark earthly scent of his hair and neck, then turned his head on the pillow and startlingly found himself face to face with Speirs, who was awake.

He couldn’t see him clearly enough to tell, but they were lying on the same pillow and there was something about his body that had changed, something that was definitely aware. 

Lipton froze. 

His mind was strikingly clear in a jolt and he realized he was hot in more than one way, no longer shivering but his blood pumping, powerful and rushing in his ears as his breath came out fast. His world was tilted in a way he suspected was the alcohol still in his system, but all it did was take away his fear he knew he should have felt. 

He didn’t turn away, and knew Speirs was looking back too. In the dark it was impossible to tell for quite a while, but slowly Lipton’s eyes got used to it and he could see the outline of the other man right next to him, the line of his shoulder as he lay on his side, the side of his face and his unruly hair. 

Finally, he could make out facial features, just barely by where the shadows were darker or deeper, and then lastly he saw the gleam of open eyes, blinking every now and then and staring at him like a predator waiting for its chance to jump. 

Their faces were inches apart on the pillow, but the thick covers and blankets jammed between them formed an almost modest barrier. The bed wasn’t actually really either narrow or wide, and Lipton remembered wondering before if it was a lavish bed for one or a cramped bed for two, and now lying there next to his commanding officer he thought again that he was simultaneously too far and too close to him, and his equally conflicted body shuddered both with instinct to escape and desire to crawl closer. 

Even if frozen, with all that winding tension he couldn’t stop himself from gasping. He saw the outline of Speirs’ face shifting. 

He felt a tip of a nose brushing against his, and this time he gasped at the contact, as minimal as it was. He still didn’t know if he was retreating or advancing, but Lipton did move, just turned his head slightly and accidentally brushed his nose along the side of the other man’s nose, ending up touching his cheek.

The sheets shuffled, and the pile of covers shifted. Something slipped off and dropped on the floor, something thin and heavy and probably woollen, but the thicker covers stayed on, no longer wrapped around him but covering him like a roof of a cave. More air rushed under the covers, and suddenly a new kind of warmth flushed against Lipton’s body and he realized he and Speirs lied now under the same cover. 

The room was quiet enough that he heard the sound his dry lips made when he parted them, and in the same moment Speirs’ hand touched his side. 

Another full body shudder ran through him, one that Speirs must have felt, and he had to speak. “Sir, what – “

Speirs’ voice was low and rough: “Don’t call me that now.” And then in one slow, smooth movement of his body, he was on top of him. 

Lipton let out a shuddering breath and instinctively his hands flew up to receive the other, ending up fluttering against his ribs. Despite his confusion and fright his legs fell apart to welcome him, and as Speirs pressed down against him, he had to swallow down an embarrassing noise when the other undoubtedly felt just how badly he wanted him there. 

Speirs nudged his hips against Lipton’s gently, almost intriguing, and Lipton chocked back a noise that threatened to escape. Speirs huffed out a pleased sound and rocked down again, more certain this time, and suddenly the man was on the move: his hands slid up along Lipton’s chest, pushing up his shirt and ending up kneading his shoulders, fingers sinking into the muscle. He used his hold as leverage to push better against Lipton, flexing his whole body, and this time Lipton couldn’t stop a thin moan from escaping. 

Speirs nuzzled his face against his cheek. “Shh,” he whispered, then did it again.

Something hot and dangerous slithered in the bottom of Lipton’s stomach. He had been hard before, but now there was a thrill to it, a genuine, disorienting desire that sent his uncertain hands grasping Speirs’ shirt and his hips bucking up against him. 

“There you go,” Speirs breathed in his ear, satisfied.

Lipton squeezed his eyes shut. He could hear his blood rushing in his ear and his heart hammering in his chest as he thrust up against Speirs like he didn’t know what else to do. He could feel the captain through both of their trousers, not fully hard yet but rapidly getting there, and rubbing against him was a thrilling pleasure that overrode his common sense. 

Speirs was a hot, heavy weight on top of him, and Lipton frightened himself with how much he loved it. His hands grasped at Speirs’ shirt and pushed it up, exposing bare skin of his back and flanks, and pushed underneath it to paw at anything he could reach.

Urged by him, Speirs returned the favour and yanked Lipton’s shirt up as far as he could, and his hands followed to map out everything he found, all warm palms and clever fingers, making Lipton squirm and hum as he was toyed with even though he bit his lips together.

There was nothing urgent about the movements of Speirs’ hips, just a rhythmic, languid loll like he was comfortable like that, tightly frotting while panting against Lipton’s neck. The pressure and the rhythm were more than enough to keep the desire mounting, something hot and shimmering building up in his belly, but it wasn’t enough and it left Lipton writhing, frustrated and burning up. 

Speirs was nuzzling against his cheek, then suddenly cupped Lipton’s jaw with his hand and reached his neck, searching for something better. Lipton made a muffled sound of uncertain protest and dodged, feeling Speirs’ lips brushing his brow instead. The hand on his jaw turned insistent, trying to get him into a right angle, but Lipton refused to comply.

Speirs kissed his cheek instead, the gesture tender even though his stubble was not. “No?” 

Lipton’s throat was dry and it was hard to think, and he didn’t know how to articulate any of his feelings. “Just that – I – Speirs, that’s not… appropriate,” he lamely finished. 

Speirs stilled, his hand still on Lipton’s jaw with his thumb brushing over his cheek. For a moment he seemed to gather his thought, which Lipton understood since he wasn’t that sure himself what he had meant. Nothing about what they were doing was appropriate, and kissing was hardly an escalation, but something about it felt too strong, too personal maybe.

“I know,” Speirs said finally and brushed sweat-slicked hair back from Lipton’s forehead. “But I want you, Carwood. And you should call me Ron.” 

Something about his voice made Lipton shudder. There was something there, an underlying note of desire and heat that broke through whatever defences he had been trying to build, and when Speirs reached for his mouth again, he couldn’t make himself turn away.

He felt Speirs pausing, felt his breath on his lips, then a tip of a tongue that lightly touched his bottom lip. “Let me have you.”

It was half a question, half a demand, and Lipton felt goosebumps all over his skin, electrified in yet another way. “Ron,” he breathed, trying the name on his tongue for the first time. 

Speirs kissed him, consuming and wet at once, like he had been hungry for it and couldn’t hold himself back any longer. He kissed like he meant to taste him, like he wanted to steal his breath away and make sure he never kissed anyone again without comparing it to this. Speirs’ mouth was an insistent seal, his lips surprisingly sensual and soft even when his stubble scratched, and a kiss after kiss was claimed from Lipton. Speirs kissed like he couldn’t get enough, and Lipton felt dizzy with the sheer force of the hunger laid on him. When Speirs’ tongue licked into his mouth to coax his so that he could suckle on it, Lipton knew for certain that allowing this had been entirely too much.

It was uncertain who recovered the use of their hands first, but as they kissed their bodies had almost on their own resumed their writhing against each other, and now it wasn’t suddenly enough anymore. With their lips trading wet kisses, they fumbled at their flies, then shoved their trousers and skivvies down their thighs, just enough.

With their trousers around their thighs they couldn’t stay like they were but had to roll back onto their sides. 

Lipton missed the weight on top of him and in his shameless state wished they could get fully naked. He flushed at the thought and everything that followed, a flood of fantasies of having Speirs to himself locked away in some secure, private room where he could strip for him and keep the light on so he could in turn look at the man. 

Speirs was passionate and domineering even without pressing him down. It was effortless, like once he was evoked, he had no trouble letting his desire show and take what he wanted, and he seized Lipton by his bare hip, pulling them roughly together. 

Speirs let out a shuddering breath and right after sucked in air through his teeth, while Lipton took a series of shallow gasps. Feeling the other man’s bare, hard cock rubbing against him, his own cock and his belly, was a completely new sensation and it made Lipton’s thoughts reel. They had rolled half out from the covers, and the cool air in the room felt like additional caress on their heated bodies. 

Speirs rolled his hips against Lipton’s a few times while grasping his hip, his foot hooking itself around Lipton’s ankle under the covers, but he wasn’t satisfied. 

Unceremoniously, he spat into his hand and reached between them, taking a hold of both of them and then started to thrust. 

All Lipton could do was wrap his arms tightly around Speirs’ shoulders and hang on to the ride. He rolled his hips in time with Speirs, rubbing hot and throbbing into his hand and into the soft squish of their bellies. Each stroke brought along a new burst of tingling pleasure that kept building and made his whole body yearn. His back was arched and he kept flexing his hips to get the best possible angle, searching for it on instinct and mindlessly chasing the final fulfilment that he knew was coming, soon, any moment now, just a little bit more.

Keeping quiet was becoming a real challenge. Lipton forgot to breathe from time to time as he tried to keep himself from moaning, and a part of him mourned how he couldn’t communicate his feelings to Speirs, who’d just have to read what he needed from the twisting of his body and ragged breathing. 

Things were getting very wet and slippery between them, and Speirs squeezed him just right, almost on the side of painful but so good, and Lipton lost all rhythm. Almost on their own accord, his hips rolled against Speirs, faster and harder for a moment, and after a few frenzied movements he felt that winding heat in his gut finally bursting. He felt the oncoming rush as a tingle in his thighs at first, and then everything came to a sudden completion that drowned him like a wave, making his toes curl, his hips buck, fingers dig into Speirs’ back and his mind whiten out as he shuddered under his release. He had to bury his face into Speirs’ shoulder to keep himself from crying out, and without meaning to he bit down. 

Speirs groaned, keen and predatory, his hand catching some of the come between them.

He let go and once again pushed Lipton on his back, this time mounting his thigh and thrusting into the creek of his pelvis, smearing the mess left there. Lipton hanged on with his arms still tightly locked behind Speirs’ shoulders, and despite having just come he felt a thrill down his spine at holding Speirs against him like this and offering him pleasure. 

They were in someone else’s bed, Lipton thought with lewd amusement, it could have been someone’s marriage bed, and he was having sex with his commanding officer in it. In fresh sheets. He almost laughed.

Speirs was thrusting against him in wild, sharp jerks, obviously close. His breathing was just harsh panting, too heavy to let him even kiss, but despite the darkness Lipton somehow knew he had exchanged kissing into looking. 

“Good… Carwood… So good,” Speirs muttered among his panting, the words strangled like he had tried to keep quiet but couldn’t. He sounded urgent, desperate even. 

Something about spoken words made Lipton’s heart jump. Maybe it was his name, something that made it clear that even though he could have been anyone in the dark, Speirs called out to him. 

A deeply pleasurable hum escaped Speirs. “I want to come on you,” he muttered urgently, like he didn’t mean to say it but the desire had overflowed, “Christ, I want to come in you.”

“Oh God, Ron,” Lipton whispered hoarsely back, his face flushing at the thought, but despite the shock he knew how he felt about it, “Yes, God, yes, Ron.”

He rolled up against Speirs and squeezed him to him, and then Speirs bared his teeth, groaning through them while his body went taunt and shivered on top of Lipton, who felt the muscles of his back seize up. He felt a splatter of warmth on his lower belly, and after a few moments filled with frantic panting, it was over.

After catching his breath for a moment, Speirs gave a deep sigh and rolled off him. Lipton let him go and once again welcomed the cool air that calmed his heated skin and dried the sweat drenching him. 

Now that the desire had been flared and spent it was like they both came back to the real world, and the sound from outside the room came back on. There wasn’t much, just the occasional low howl of the wind between the buildings every now and then, an engine of a jeep as the car struggled down the muddy road, and a few singular gunshots traded somewhere down the river.

There was sweat and come drying on Lipton’s skin and he was getting his wits back enough to be disgusted. 

Speirs didn’t stay in the bed for long, but with a put-upon grunt rolled over and got up. He pulled up his trousers and then went on to rummage through the dark room, apparently on search for something. There was a sound of a backpack being opened and metallic clattering as he searched through his stuff.

Lipton sighed and took a corner of a sheet to wipe his belly as well as he could and then set the dirty sheet as far away from himself as possible without tossing it on the floor all together. He pulled his skivvies and then his trousers up just to cover himself but didn’t bother with the buttons. What had just taken place in the safety and secret of the darkness was beginning to dawn on him, and he had to struggle to keep his calm. He felt dazed and shocked, a little bit like after a shelling, wondering what exactly had happened and where all of it had even come from. 

Only the darkness stopped him from taking a good look at the aftermath of their encounter and panicking even though he could smell the thick scent of their sweat and come in the sheets, the smell of sex overwhelming and unmistakable even though it had never before been like this. But even while coming to his senses, Lipton couldn’t deny the warm shimmer in his chest or the lingering glow in his limbs. He was content, deeply sated, and with a start he recognized the lightness inside as joy. 

The mattress tipped again when Speirs came back to bed. “Here,” he said quietly and offered Lipton something, blindly reaching for him and touching his arm with something soft and damp. 

When Lipton took it in his hand, he realised it was a piece of damp fabric, and gratefully he cleaned himself up a bit better than with the dry sheet. When he was done, Speirs took the rag and tossed it carelessly into the darkness. Then his hands were once again on Lipton, smoothing down his shirt and rearranging the covers on him, not as many or as tightly this time, but still unmistakably tugging him in once again.

“There,” Speirs said, gave his chest a pat on top of the comforter, and with that flopped down himself, pulling covers on himself. After returning to the original position, innocently sharing sleeping quarters with covers between them guarding their modesty and all the evidence wiped away, it was like nothing had ever happened. Once more, Speirs reached over, the back of his hand touching first Lipton’s cheek and then his forehead. “Better now,” he muttered, distantly pleased, then retracted his hand, turned over and went to sleep.

Lipton didn’t say anything. He didn’t know how he could just go back to sleep, but his limbs were heavy and his pleasure-hazed mind refused to be scandalized. He turned on his side, leaned his forehead between Speirs’ shoulder blades, and then he was asleep. 

The sun was up once again when Lipton came to. The bed was empty and the room felt unrecognizable from the night before, too small and its walls too grey and barren to have witnessed anything as bizarre as what had happened in the small hours. 

Despite his disorientation, Lipton was certain it had happened. For a second he lay there, letting realization sink in and waited for the panic, the regret or the shock to come, except none of it did. Everything was still the same, only maybe somehow better.

Lipton pushed himself to sit up and realized how much better he truly did feel this morning. He was no longer aching in every place and his head was clear. He wasn’t shivering anymore either, only slightly sluggish and tired like he had fought something off with great effort. 

Just his throat felt like sandpaper, and he gave a dry cough.

Speirs was up in a flash, and only then Lipton noticed that he was still in the room, just instead of the bed he was sitting cross-legged on the bedroll he hadn’t used. He was fully dressed again and discarded a map he had been holding and picked up his canteen, then strolled over to the bed and dropped to sit down next to Lipton.

“You need to drink,” Speirs said, handing his canteen over. 

Wordlessly Lipton took it, lifted it to his lips and took a drink of cold water. He felt absolutely parched and once he started to drink, he couldn’t stop. Greedily he gulped the cold water down until he had drained the whole canteen, and when with a sigh he looked down again he found Speirs watching him. 

Speirs accepted his canteen back and screwed the lid shut without once looking away from Lipton, who stared back just as steadily.

Speirs’ eyes looked directly back at him, but his face was blank, giving away nothing. Lipton didn’t even know what he was looking or waiting for, maybe a sign of some sort, an acknowledgement of what had taken place between them the previous night, something, anything that indicated that something had changed. 

They sat in that silence for an unnatural amount of time, so long that just the unflinching stare became a sign of its own. Something had happened, something irreversible and intimate, something way out of line that couldn’t even be mentioned in daylight, perhaps anywhere ever again. 

They just peered at each other, green eyes to brown, both wide open and searching. Vulnerable. 

“How are you feeling, Lieutenant?” Speirs finally asked.

Lipton let several beats of silence pass. “I feel good, sir.”


End file.
